


Splinters

by Mertiya



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Catra (She-Ra) Redemption, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Hopeful Ending, I couldn't help myself, Nonlinear Narrative, POV Catra (She-Ra), Time Travel, also there's some kinda gratuitous catradora smut in the middle, major character death but they get better, spoilers through the end of s3, the smut is not necessarily safe and sane but it is consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 12:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20907617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Although the portal was closed, the future is still dark.  Catra discovers there might still be something she's not willing to lose.





	Splinters

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty short but I just finished the show last night and I really wanted to get this idea hammered out. I have WAY too many feelings about Catra.

The flickering green glow of the portal is hard for Catra to look at directly, but she squints and does so anyway. This is their only chance, after all. This is the only way to clean up the mess, and it’s the only way left that might quiet the sickening stone that lies—has always lain—heavy in the center of her chest. Or maybe nothing will do that.

Shadow Weaver was right about her. She’s worthless. She should never have tried to be someone she wasn’t. Because no matter what she tries, it all goes wrong, and now there’s no way for it to go right, unless this last effort actually fucking works. It probably won’t. She probably deserves it. They probably all do.

She glances sideways at Hordak beside her, stripped of his armor, standing only with the help of the control panel and his own will. His white face is blank and emotionless, but his red eyes are tired as he turns his face to hers. “Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” Catra says. She’s not ready. She will never be ready. She’s still not ready to show weakness.

“Trial three,” Hordak says, and he pulls the lever.

Green flashes, and the universe splinters.

~

It’s dark. Not so dark that Catra can’t see, but definitely the dimness of night. She’s standing in the doorway of a bathroom that looks very familiar, but the room on the other side isn’t. There’s a bed in the middle, bigger than she’s used to. There’s a series of glass cases along the wall. Trophy cases. In each one is an artifact, and she recognizes several of them. The first one is that stupid staff Adora’s little side-kick always carries. Beside that is a trident. Then the golden bow with its little cluster of arrows beside it. Catra takes half a step into the room, because where _is_ she?

“What are you doing?” Adora’s voice says from behind her, and Catra blinks, whirls, and finds herself face to face with a completely naked Adora, long honey-colored hair still wet from a shower.

“I—” Catra stalls out, her voice trembling. “_Adora_,” she says.

“Why are you still wearing your clothes?” Adora asks her, voice darker than Catra has ever heard it, and she backs Catra into the wall. Before Catra can even respond, Adora’s lips are on hers, and her tongue is in Catra’s mouth, one hand firmly on Catra’s waist, the nails digging in.

The light level shifts suddenly as Catra’s eyes dilate almost instantly. “Adora, what the hell—” she tries to say, but it comes out as a series of muffled noises that morph into a moan.

“You aren’t going to need these,” Adora murmurs in her ear, and then Adora puts her hands in the front and rips her tank top open in the front. Catra decides to stop trying to figure out what’s going on, because this is way too much like some of the fantasies she’s had over the years and hey, who knows, maybe for once something good is happening to her.

She growls, sinking her fingers into Adora’s shoulder-blades, trembling with the effort of keeping her claws sheathed. Adora chuckles darkly, running her hands across Catra’s front and tweaking her nipples. “Self-restraint from _you_?” she asks, and it sounds like the old Adora, the one who left Catra behind when they were about to have everything.

“I can have restraint,” Catra growls, sliding her hands up to tangle them in Adora’s wet hair. “Now are we talking or are we fucking?”

What is going on! her brain screams again. She’s half-expecting Adora to laugh or go red or even just look at her in confusion, but that dark smile only widens. “I thought you’d never ask.” She scoops Catra up in a bridal carry—which makes Catra’s hackles stand up and her tail twitch with surprise, but holy fuck, that’s _hot_—and carries her into the darkened bedroom.

She drops Catra onto the bed and before Catra can even move, Adora is straddling her, grinning, posing, her muscles glistening with water. Catra whimpers, and her tail lashes, once, twice, three times. Adora reaches down and pulls her trousers off as well. “Turn over,” she tells her, and Catra _wants_ to fight, wants to show Adora she’s not the kind of cat to be submissive, but her muscles are absolute goo, and somehow—somehow she’s flipping onto her front. “Good kitty,” Adora purrs, slipping a hand around her stomach, pulling her hips up, and then grinding her face down into the pillows. Catra makes a really, really undignified noise, although at least the pillow muffles it a little, and then Adora has two fingers inside her and she’s fucking her roughly.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Adora’s hand tangles in her hair, and she’s nipping at the back of Catra’s neck, and before Catra even knows what’s happening, she’s coming, clenching around Adora’s hand, heat suffusing her whole body. Adora laughs again, but she doesn’t stop. Catra yells in pain at the overstimulation, clutching her hands around the pillows. This time her claws come out, and she feels the cloth tear beneath her hands. “Adora!” she yells, but Adora is holding her there, effortless, almost, and tears are gathering at the corners of Catra’s eyes as she swears and wriggles. Adora doesn’t stop until Catra’s belly muscles seize up again, dragging another bright-hot-painful orgasm out of her.

She’s trembling and doesn’t want to show it as she turns over. Adora smirks at her, then pushes her back against the pillows and goes up on her knees. Catra barely has time to realize what’s about to happen and then Adora’s thighs are around her face, and her scent is all around Catra, and Catra moans again, twitching, somehow managing to open her mouth and start licking Adora’s slick, swollen cunt.

Above her, Adora moans, rocking her hips into Catra’s face, and Catra’s moaning as well, licking and sucking, holy shit, she’s wanted this _forever_, how did she never realize she’s wanted this forever? Adora tastes like sweet musk and metal, and Catra has a hand between her own legs again, which is insane, because it still hurts, but she can’t help it. “Yes,” Adora whispers. “Oh, fuck, yes, exactly like that—” She gives the cutest little squeak as she climaxes as well, twitching on Catra’s tongue, staying in the same position for a long moment as if she needs the contact, pressing so hard against Catra’s face that Catra feels like she’s going to smother. That’d be a good death, though.

She doesn’t actually smother. Adora peels herself away and then lies down beside her, kissing her deeply. “Well done pleasuring your Supreme Leader,” she murmurs in Catra’s ear, and Catra freezes.

“Supreme Leader?” she echoes. 

“Oh, do you not like that? Maybe I should come up with something different. After the execution this morning, I suppose Supreme Leader might have some baggage.”

“Execution,” Catra echoes. “Uh. Yeah. Right. Good job taking control of the Horde, Adora.” Her mind is racing. When she tries to think about it, she has some weird unreal-feeling memories jostling with the image of herself standing next to Hordak as he pulls the lever. Adora’s face, transcendant, but hard, shining as brightly as it ever did when she was She-Ra, but without that warmth that Catra is used to being scornful about. That warmth that she’ll never see again. Hordak’s face, eyes growing wide, as the electricity courses through him. Entrapta screaming and screaming. “I guess Hordak and Entrapta won’t be bothering us anymore,” Catra says out loud.

“And neither will Scorpia,” Adora says coolly. Catra blinks. “Scorpia?” she echoes.

“No one looks at my kitty-cat like that except me,” Adora tells her. “I’m having her transported to Beast Island tomorrow. You don’t have a _problem_ with that, do you?”

The part of Catra that doesn’t remember She-Ra feels—a little sad, a little scared, a little rebellious. The part of Catra that _does_ remember She-Ra wants to throw up. She wants this. She wants this Adora more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life. This is her perfect, unwavering Emperor, who loves her, who never left her. They have the universe in the palm of their hands. This is everything she’s ever wanted.

Catra curls up, still trembling. Is it, really? It’s everything she’s ever _thought_ she wanted, that’s for sure. But that second memory of Entrapta _screaming_ as she watches Hordak die. And he brought them here. And the thought of Scorpia, dumb, silly, cute Scorpia, being sent to Beast Island for looking at Catra the way she always has—

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Catra says, sitting up. “This isn’t right.” Is this what Adora felt like when she left? Is _this_ what she meant when she kept going on about how stuff they’d agree on their whole lives was _wrong_?

Adora grabs her shoulder, and Catra suddenly realizes what she’s said, and what she said it in answer to. “I didn’t mean—” she starts.

“Have you been fucking her too?” Adora demands, slamming her back against the pillow, and there’s none of She-Ra’s softness or grace. None of Adora’s nascent kindheartedness in her cold blue eyes.

“No!” Catra protests. “No. It’s not that.” There’s a glow of green at the edges of her vision. “It’s just—” She feels tears rising in her eyes, and she doesn’t know if the feeling tightening in her stomach is sadness or anger. “You’re not who I’m looking for after all.” The green cracks move in, and the last thing Catra sees before they swallow her is Adora’s confused face fading away.

~

She’s kneeling on hard stone and hears the low rustle of cloth, smells the metal and oil and blood of Horde Prime’s execution room. Oh, no. No, no, no. This is worse. This isn’t where she’s supposed to be. Her head snaps up, and she’s looking across the room at Hordak, whose face reflects the horror in hers.

Horde Prime is back in his throne, face a blank mask. Adora and Entrapta are back on either side of the throne, in those horrible shackles. Adora’s face is up, brave, determined. Entrapta just looks confused.

How are they back here? This isn’t where the portal was supposed to take them. This is the _reason_ Hordak made it.

“For the crimes of rebellion against the Horde,” drones Horde Prime’s second-in-command, “Princess Adora and Princess Entrapta have been sentenced to death. The sentence is to be carried out immediately.”

She’s not going to watch this again. The first time, she didn’t feel anything until the next day, and then she realized that Adora wasn’t coming back, and then—and then the pain started, and it didn’t stop. Watching this again will kill her.

“_No_!” It’s not her voice; it’s Hordak’s. And this is just like last time, too. Hordak surging up, grabbing blindly for a weapon, and trying to reach Entrapta. He didn’t get very far, of course. Horde Prime forgave him for his “indiscretion” thanks to the “great service he’d done,” so he was thrown in solitary confinement instead of being executed immediately. Catra broke him out. But that hasn’t happened yet. Adora and Entrapta are still there, are still alive, even if it’s only for a few more minutes.

This isn’t where they were supposed to be, but what does it matter? She can’t watch Adora die again. Not like this. Not with no way for her to survive. She’s always expected Adora to come back before—what’s a three hundred foot drop for She-Ra? But she never realized it until it was too late, and Adora wasn’t. Wasn’t ever coming back again.

This time, Catra howls and goes for a weapon as well. They’re not expecting _that_. Everyone always underestimates her, and maybe that’s a good thing now. She’s got one of the stun batons, and she goes straight for Horde Prime. She makes it to within two steps of the throne before she feels sharp pain go straight through her chest, feels her heart stop. Someone’s shot her with an energy weapon. The last thing she sees as she collapses to the floor is Adora’s face, twisted with the fear she wouldn’t show for herself.

~

She’s on her knees again. This time, she slides backward into the crowd and tries to make it to Hordak. The two of them do better fighting back to back, but even Catra can’t win against a hundred heavily-armed soldiers, and she’s screaming Adora’s name when they cut her legs out from under her and drive a spear through her stomach.

~

Again. She goes for Adora. She dies.

~

Again. Maybe Entrapta can do something? All that happens is she has to see Hordak’s face break and shatter again when Entrapta is caught in a grenade explosion.

~

Again. Again. Again. No matter what she does, it’s not enough. No matter what, she’s not enough. She’s never, ever been good enough.

~

“Please,” Catra chokes out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “_Someone help_!” And she looks up and sees Adora again. And behind her, a tall figure with a wingspan stretching from wall to wall.

Green cracks fill her vision.

~

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here before.” There’s a gentle hand in Catra’s hair. “In some ways, you’re barely more than a child, too. I hadn’t thought of that.” Catra looks up to see Angella bending over her. “Adora tried so hard to believe in you. Do you know that?”

“Sounds like Adora,” Catra groans. Her ribs are hurting, like they’ve been broken. “She never knows what a lost cause looks like.”

Angella’s face is pinched, but she smiles. “I think that’s one of her best qualities,” she says quietly. “And I think it’s something I could learn from.” She spreads her wings, and they’re silhouetted in green fire.

~

“Catra! Please! Don’t!” The metal of the lever is cold beneath Catra’s hand. There’s green light all around. There’s Adora, chained to the pipe, screaming, begging her. Reaching out the way she’s always been. Asking for help.

Even with everything she’s seen, something instead Catra rebels, something whispering to her to pull the lever, to stop letting Adora hold her back, to go forward and reach for her own life for once, rise through Horde Prime’s ranks. She can do that. She knows that now. And all it will mean is giving up Adora, Hordak, Entrapta, and Scorpia. But if she does this, and she doesn’t break Hordak out in the future—maybe, maybe, maybe she can prove herself.

She sees Hordak’s face cracking as Entrapta dies. She doesn’t know why that hurts so much. She sees the life fading from Adora’s eyes. She does know why that hurts. She lets her hand fall. _There. I failed. Are you happy now?_

Adora’s face lights up, and that hurts too. From behind the pipe, she sees Hordak struggling up. He comes running for the lever, and she stops him with a straight arm across the chest. He crumples. “Trust me,” Catra tells him. “You really don’t want to do that. Also, I was lying about Entrapta.”

“What?” And then Hordak’s red eyes widen, and she sees the moment the future memories return. He crumples to his knees. “No.”

“Hordak!” Catra looks up and sees Entrapta running up behind Princess Glimmer and Bow. “Scuse me,” she says. “Sorry, gotta get through.” She doesn’t even look at Catra, despite the fact she must still be in pain from the stun gun that Catra hit her with. “Oh, jeez,” she says, going to her knees beside Hordak. “We can’t do the portal thing. It’ll destroy the world. Also your armor is _totally_ beat up, what have you been doing to yoursel—_mph_?”

Hordak has turned, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her on the lips. So that’s him getting his happy ending. Catra turns back to Adora, and before Glimmer or Bow or Shadow Weaver can do anything, she leaps across the room and goes to her knees in front of Adora, fisting her hands in Adora’s shirt front.

“Catra?” Adora says uncertainly.

“I’m sorry,” Catra grits out. “And that’s the only time you’re gonna hear that, so I hope you were listening.” Then she buries her face in Adora’s chest and doesn’t quite cry.

“Uh,” says Adora. “I’d hug you back, but I’m kind of tied up.”

“Said I wouldn’t apologize again,” Catra mumbles. The next second, she’s being pulled away by magic, held still as Glimmer and Bow go to throw their hands around Adora. It’s still not fair. Even Shadow Weaver—Catra looks down at the ground. But Adora’s alive. And maybe now Catra knows one thing she didn’t know before.

How to ask for help.


End file.
